


garden of eden.

by projectfreelancer



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Food Sharing, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 09:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15361725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectfreelancer/pseuds/projectfreelancer
Summary: It takes time to fully understand each other, but they get there eventually.





	garden of eden.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first natsume fanfic, and I have actually not even read the entire manga or watched the whole anime. But I wanted to write this for a lovely friend of mine who loves these too. We really love thinking about them revisiting this date they had, and having the fruit grow new meaning between the two of them.

It’s been a long time since Matoba has come here. The breeze is cool, gentle against his hair as he does nothing more than stand where he is. Spring is blossoming behind him in the form of the blooming flowers, the pollen in the air, fresh fruit ripe to eat. Birds hum above him, and for a moment, Matoba feels purely at peace.

It is all too reminiscent of  _ before _ .   
  


 

**(** “Why here?” His question disrupts the peace of the moment. Matoba spares him a glance, watches at the way the wind picks at his hair. 

“Why not, Shuuichi? It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” And it is. The leaves falling around them, the sunset lovely in the distance. Natori outshines the entire setting though, beautiful and all on display for Matoba’s eyes only. 

“But why fruit?” He looks confused at it all, and Matoba would do anything for him, he thinks. Wearing his heart on his sleeve all the time. Brave in ways Matoba cannot be. 

“Just try it, for me,” and before a protest can be made, Matoba lifts the fruit in front of Natori’s mouth. He’s hesitant to do anything more, Natori not looking away from him at the invitation of it all. And slowly, Natori moves closer before taking from the fruit. The juice of it falls down Matoba’s wrist, and maybe it should be something disgusting, but he cannot stop watching the boy: his lips, his eyes, the way his hand has now settled on Matoba’s wrist to steady the fruit. And for a moment, Matoba lets himself consider just reaching up and kissing him, or telling him he doesn’t need his clan if Natori would just —

But then Natori swallows, lets go of his wrist, and, a small smile on his lips, says, “It’s good.”

Matoba tries to pretend he does not feel breathless at it all.  **)**

  
  


“Even in small things, I could not get it right.”

A scoff behind him, signaling that Natori has arrived. Or maybe has been there for a while, soaking in the tranquility of it all. “You did not get it wrong.”

Matoba looks over his shoulder to meet his eyes, but Natori is not watching him. His gaze is focuses on the fruit hanging above them. “You looked sad the last time we came here. Did I not do that wrong then?”

“You didn’t. I just — I didn’t understand. What it meant to you. I could never tell if I was your friend, or your enemy or —” The last bit goes unsaid, the hint of emotion so vibrant in Natori’s eyes no flushed out with apathy. But Matoba knows better. He always knew Natori well underneath the extreme emotions or buried emotions. No one could know Natori better than Matoba. 

“Shuuichi,” and that gets Natori to look at him now, eyes now wider than before, “Did you really not know?”

Natori looks confused. Lost. Apathy gone now, and Matoba feels pride dwell within him to know he caused it. “Why…” But he trails off, looking down at the ground before back at Matoba. “I thought you wanted me to make your clan more powerful.”

And there it is, always coming in to tear them apart. The clans. Matoba looks away now, a mixture of guilt and regret pulling in his stomach. He did what he had to do. Natori was a liability to his success at the time, and if he were to let his emotions get in the way, the exorcists’ empire would only continue to crumble. He was not brave enough to abandon all he has known for some boy. He had to let Natori go before it became too late for either of them.

“Maybe that’s where my interest started. It’s not where it piqued though.” With the words, he reaches to pick one of the fruits off the tree. He holds it in his moment, lets the sounds of spring dance around them, before turning to Natori, walking closer to him. “I always wanted to do this. Pick fruit with someone, eat it together. So, when you were able to, I wanted to go with you. But when I looked at you, you looked…” He feels his fingers tighten around the fruit. “Like you did not want to be there with me.”

Natori does not reply to that, and Matoba fears that Natori will be the one to walk this time around. But then the man is reaching above him, pulling down a fruit with his hand. And Matoba’s already too close — closer than he should be — and it is easy for Natori to hold it up to him. “Try it,” and then a hint of a devilish smile, “For me.”

Matoba recalls the way Natori stood in front of him to protect him, before the sword could pierce through his eye. And he recalls the hurt look in his eyes when Matoba had told him  _ it was for the best, for the clans, we cannot do any of this anymore _ . It’s easy to grasp his fingers around Natori’s wrist now, parallel to the scene from so many years ago. They’re so different now: Matoba without one eye, hair longer, and Natori famous, wearing a mask of a personality. But here, together, they can be what they once were: Natori with his emotions always on display; Matoba with too much weight on his shoulders and his fascination with Natori deadly for the both of them. And so it’s easy to do what Natori did. To bite the fruit, feel the spill of it down his chin, across Natori’s skin. It’s still sweet as it had been. And, Natori knowing he cannot reply, says, “I wanted to be there. But it was painful to know you would reject me one day. And you  _ did _ . I did not understand you. But I wanted to be there,” and his eyes drop to Matoba’s lips with the words. “I want to be here now.”

It’s enough for Matoba. Anything with Natori seems to be  _ enough _ , no matter how little it really is. He swallows, hits at Natori’s hand, has the fruit fall to the ground. Emotions too large in him, he reaches up to grab at Natori’s neck. Their lips meet, and it is sweeter than the fruit shared between them. Years of pent-up regret, tension, masquerading themselves as antagonists rather than pining for this moment. The birds continue to sing around them the flowers still blooming, and for the first time in too long, Matoba does not feel so alone.


End file.
